


put your heart into it

by mikkey_bones



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Brooklyn, Coffee, First Dates, First Kiss, M/M, Sam is figuring out his sexuality at age 27, Steve has about a hundred chips on his shoulders, both very relatable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-17 09:41:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9317102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikkey_bones/pseuds/mikkey_bones
Summary: Steve might have just met the love of his life after a one-night stand. Only, Steve's potential soulmate isn't the guy he slept with. He's his roommate.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for tumblr user [bravenazar](http://bravenazar.tumblr.com) as part of the SamSteve gift exchange. Prompt was "coffee." Hope you enjoy!

When Steve wakes up, hungry and grumpy, Phillip is still sleeping. He's on his back with his mouth open, his deep breaths rattling into quiet snores. Annoying, Steve thinks. It'll be impossible to get back to sleep with that in his ear. So instead, he gets up and pulls on his underwear and a shirt. The priority right now is coffee. And after that, he has to decide whether to stick around for breakfast or leave right away. It's not exactly a clear-cut decision. Phillip had been nice enough, and not bad in bed. Steve wouldn't mind another one night stand or two, maybe a friends-with-benefits kind of thing. But Phillip wasn't boyfriend material, he'd concluded sometime before he'd drifted off last night. There hadn't been a _spark_ , and Steve is all about sparks.

There's an actual hallway separating the bedroom from the living room and kitchen, which is pretty upscale for any millennial living space in New York City. Steve yawns and checks out the view from the living room window—nothing special, just a bunch of other Brooklyn apartments fading into a cloud haze. Lousy weather.

He's preoccupied in his own thoughts, so he doesn't notice the aroma of fresh coffee before it's too late. And then his brain catches up with him. Big apartment, Brooklyn, young, single guy. _Roommate_.

The roommate sees him about the same time Steve freezes in the entryway, and then there's no point running away and pretending that never happened. Steve _needs_ coffee in the morning. Can't wake up without it. Will likely have a temper tantrum or a complete breakdown if deprived. It's happened before.

And (he's noticing this with the small part of his brain that isn't focusing on his lack of caffeine) Roommate is _hot_. Tall. Dark. Toned. Confident. Well. He's sort of reaching on that last one, but it takes a particular kind of person to wear a skintight short-sleeved workout shirt casually around the house, doesn't it?

Holy shit.

“Uh, hi,” the guy says and Steve realizes they've been standing and staring at each other for an awkwardly long amount of time. “You're Phillip's…?”

“Friend,” Steve says. “Steve.”

They're not friends. But the guy just nods, accepting the explanation. “Sam,” he says. “Want some coffee?”

“Yes, _please_ ,” Steve replies and pads further into the kitchen. The battered linoleum is cold and gross on his bare feet, but other than that, it's not a bad kitchen. Better than his, probably. Well-furnished, with plenty of appliances and stocked cupboards. The kitchen of a person who cooks.

Moments later, Sam slides a cup of coffee under his nose. Steve, who was almost dozing off, jerks back to alertness and wraps both hands mechanically around the ceramic mug. It's a touristy mug, advertising some resort in the Catskills.

Steve inhales steam, takes a sip, scalds his tongue. It's perfect. Dark and bitter and mildly disgusting, enough to upset his empty stomach. Just how he likes it.

When he looks up, Sam is watching him. Steve realizes the guy is trying not to laugh, and can't decide whether he's insulted or not.

“I was gonna ask whether you wanted cream and sugar, but I guess that answers that,” he says.

“I always drink it black,” Steve replies, his tone wavering between conversational and belligerent.

“I used to, but I heard it stains your teeth,” Sam says and flashes Steve a grin, showing off his teeth. He has a nice smile. A gorgeous smile, actually, and the reason Steve's stomach feels so unsettled has nothing to do with the strength of the coffee that he's drinking.

Well, fuck it. “You have nice teeth,” he blurts.

“'Cuz I put cream in my coffee.”

“I'm lactose intolerant.”

“Almond milk,” Sam suggests.

“That's so fucking expensive,” Steve replies and takes a big gulp of coffee that burns all the way down.

Sam laughs. “True,” he agrees. He has nice arm muscles. Nice everything. Steve wonders if he's gay too, or bi, or whatever. He's never seen him on Grindr or Tinder before. Maybe he has better taste and uses some other app. Maybe he's one of those people who's morally against online dating. Not that Steve has swiped through all the twenty-one to twenty-seven year old guys in Brooklyn already. Sometimes it feels like it, though.

“You've got a nice place,” Steve comments, mostly to keep the conversation going.

“Tell me about it,” Sam says, looking around. Then his focus is back on Steve. “Cool piercings.”

Steve touches his lip and hates that, when he blushes, it makes a blotchy and uneven flush all the way up his neck and cheeks. “Thanks,” he says and reflects on how shitty it probably is to have a one night stand with a guy you met, and spend the entire morning flirting with his roommate. “I should get going.” He's properly caffeinated now, and that's his final decision.

Sam raises his eyebrows. “Not gonna stick around?”

Is that judgment in his tone? And if so, what's he judging? Steve, for slipping out early? Phillip _and_ Steve, for not doing this the old-fashioned way? Something else? “No,” Steve says, again in that tone that's wavering between conversational and confrontational. “I'm busy.”

Sam shrugs it off. “Cool,” he says.

“Thanks for the coffee,” Steve says. Deliberately, he dumps the dregs into the sink and cleans out the mug. Sam lets him. “Bye,” he adds.

“See ya.”

As he leaves the room, Steve remembers he's just wearing a t-shirt and underwear. Oh, well. Sam can have a free show of his skinny ass walking away.

*

Steve has three commissions on his plate and his regular political cartoon series for _Commandos_ , a local, monthly zine-type newspaper that's going to press in, oh, a week. Which is _totally_ why he's spending four long days this week busing tables and managing the cash register for the local bagel-slash-coffee shop Bow and Arrow.

Just kidding. It's because a guy needs to pay rent in this fucking city.

Today's not bad, though. Slow… for a Tuesday morning. They've got the usual rush of people heading off for work. There's construction on the H Street subway station, so they get a lot of the workers coming in for hearty breakfast sandwiches and coffee. Then there's the hot yoga class that lets out at nine a.m. But nothing too weird.

That should be Steve's cue that something is going to happen today. After all, this is New York. It's never _not_ weird.

But instead of taking the calm before the storm for what it is, he just enjoys a relatively peaceful day at work. Relatively, because he's busting his ass spraying food-safe disinfectant on tables and taking orders at the register while Kate makes coffee and toasts bagels behind the counter.

It's about eleven in the morning when “weird” happens. Steve is tearing open rolls of coins and counting out quarters into the cash register, preparing for the lunch rush. The doorbell jingles, signaling the arrival of a customer, but he doesn't look up until he sees them walk all the way up to the register.

It's Sam. Phillip's roommate Sam. Unfairly hot, good coffee Sam.

Steve blinks. “Uh,” he says. “Hi.”

Sam clearly recognizes him too, because he's looking at him with that same expression that he had in the apartment, like he's trying not to laugh. What's so funny? Steve isn't sure whether to smile at him or to glare. Luckily for them both, Sam starts talking before his face has to decide. And instead of just dashing off his order, he makes conversation.

“Steve, right? I haven't seen you around here before.”

“I started last week,” Steve replies dryly. Before, he'd had a job at some hipster coffee shop up in Bushwick, but the commute was a drag. So were the customers. “Do you come here often?” Oh, God. That's a line. He's using a _line_ , and he totally didn't mean to.

It's almost like Sam thinks the same thing— _he's using a line!_ —and that almost-laughing smile returns to his face. “Yeah, once a week or so. Kate knows my regular.”

“Well, I don't.” And he's the one at the cash register.

“Fair enough. Ham, cheese and egg on a toasted everything bagel, and a cup of coffee. To go.” Sam is already pulling out his wallet.

Steve rings him up. “Seven fifty-eight.”

Sam hands him his card, and Steve gives it a cursory glance before he swipes it. SAMUEL T. WILSON. Cool. He hands the card back along with a receipt to sign, and then turns to pour a cup of coffee. He remembers their conversation in the kitchen, and leaves room for cream. By the time he's done, Kate, who got to work when Sam walked in, is handing off a foil wrapped bagel sandwich in a paper bag.

“The receipt's there,” Sam says, tapping it where he left it on the counter before he takes the coffee and the sandwich.

Duh, Steve thinks. He knew that. “Bye,” he says out loud.

“See you around,” Sam says and smiles at him again before leaving. Steve gives a long-suffering sigh for no reason in particular, but also watches Sam's back (okay, his ass) as he walks out the door. Then he grabs the receipt. Which has Sam's number written on it under the signature and then circled, like it wasn't obvious enough.

“Fuck me,” Steve says out loud since there's no customers in the store.

Kate comes over to look at what's gotten him worked up _this_ time, and immediately laughs. “Oh, wow, you're popular.”

“Shut up,” Steve says and stabs the receipt onto their receipt pile without further commentary. What is this? Writing a number on a receipt? That only happens in romantic comedies and stupid coffeeshop fanfictions by people who don't even know how coffee shops work.

Later, though, on break, he digs through the receipt pile again to find the phone number. While Kate is off smoking behind the building, he enters the name in his phone. _Sam_. And a coffee emoji.

Doesn't mean he'll use it. But it seems like a shame to throw it away.

*

_Thursday, April 7, 2016_

_10:34 p.m._  
Sam?  
This is Steve.

_10:36_  
Oh hey. You actually texted.

_10:36_  
You thought I wouldn't?

_10:39_  
Well, it's been two days.

_10:39_  
I'm shy  
No one has actually given me their number like that before???  
Props  
Not that I actually want random people to give me their number like that.

_10:45_  
Am I random people?

_10:46_  
No. We've met.

_10:46_  
Good.

_11:12_  
So is this the part where we have a conversation?

_11:13_  
You tell me.  
You're the one who gave me your number.

_11:22_  
Honestly?  
I don't know how any of this works.

_11:23_  
???  
What?

_11:24_  
Flirting?  
Flirting with guys.

_11:26_  
Oh no.  
Don't tell me I'm some fucking experiment.  
What, because you know I slept with your roommate?  
Now you want to try something with the neighborhood twink?

_11:27_  
Are you always this defensive?

_11:35_  
That isn't what I meant.

_11:53_  
Okay, humor me.  
What did you mean?

_11:55_  
What I said.  
I don't know how this flirting thing works.  
I think you're cute. I think you think that I'm cute because you texted me when I gave you my number.  
I think we should go out for a drink sometime.  
Is that how it goes?

_11:58_  
That's how it can go.  
You're asking me on a date?

_12:00_  
I'm sure as hell trying to.

_12:05_  
Well?

_12:07_  
Yeah, okay.  
I'll go on a date with you.  
I'm free tomorrow night.

_12:09_  
Sweet. Me too.

*

Sam chooses a bar in Flatbush, about equidistant between his place and Steve's. As soon as Sam gives him the name of the place, Steve looks it up: Halcyon, 4.3 stars on Google, coffee shop by day and bar by night. Cute. So they're keeping the coffee theme going.

Steve tells himself he's not going to worry about the date and just wear whatever, but that only works until he gets off his shift at the diner at 4 p.m. Friday. Instead of sitting down at his desk and trying to get some real work done, he immediately heads to the shower so that he doesn't smell like New York deli, and then spends about an hour trying to figure out what to wear. What does Sam like? So far he's only seen Steve in whitey-tighties and a deli apron. Not inspiring.

Why does Steve care so much? Obviously, a large part of his interest is because Sam is hot. Gorgeous, even. But beyond that… he doesn't know what Sam wants to get out of this. A one-night stand? A fuck buddy? A relationship? And _Steve_ doesn't know what he wants out of this either.

So maybe that's why he actually puts some effort into fixing his hair so it doesn't look like a literal birds' nest. Why he makes sure he puts on a pair of clean skinny jeans instead of one of the three pairs of pants draped over his work chair in his bedroom. Why he _irons his t-shirt_.

Yeah, that's right. He ironed his t-shirt. It's Code Red ridiculous pre-date behavior and Steve knows it, and he doesn't stop. He even wipes off his leather jacket where it got a little sticky from having someone's red fruity drink spilled all over it one night while dancing. To be fair, he should've done that like, the day after. But he's doing it now, and it's because of Sam, and Steve isn't sure how that makes him feel.

Nervous, mostly. But excited, a little.

Sam meets him outside the coffeeshop-slash-bar, looking unfairly good in black slacks and a maroon button down shirt. Makes Steve feel underdressed. “Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” Steve says.

“So this place is—” Sam begins.

“Come here often?” Steve blurts at the same time.

They both shut up and look at each other. Sam laughs first, sounding nervous and rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, uh, what I was gonna say is, this place is nice. A friend told me about it—he's in Texas, but, you know, he was right, it's a good, uh, place.” He sort of peters out and then decides to just hold open the door and invite Steve inside.

Mutely, burning with embarrassment, Steve enters the place.

It actually _is_ nice. Soft but warm lighting, understated décor with dark washed tables and copper-lined counters. Lots of plants, lots of soft and low seating. “Huh,” Steve says out loud.

Sam glances at him with that half-laughing look. “Nice, isn't it?”

“Yeah.”

They both regain their confidence, more or less, when they sit down at a corner table. The seating is a padded bench with plenty of pillows on it. Steve arranges the pillows around him to make armrests. Sam watches him with evident amusement. “I'll go get drinks. Want anything in particular?”

“I'll have what you're having,” Steve says. “I'm not picky.” He watches like a hawk as Sam goes up to the bar and orders. He doesn't see any funny business with stuff being put into his drink, nor does he expect to. Sam comes back with whiskey sours for them both. Steve takes the cherry out of his and eats that first.

“So, how's your week been?” Sam asks after they each have a few sips of the drink to warm them up for conversation.

Steve rests his elbows comfortably on the pillow piles. “Busy,” he says honestly. “I have a bunch of work stuff to do. You?”

“Same. Wanna talk about yours or mine?”

“Yours,” Steve says. He still feels like he doesn't know anything about Sam, which is weird, if only because he's never actually gone out on a date with someone he doesn't know, whether they were friends or people he'd chatted with for a while online.

Sam laughs. “Fair enough.” He proceeds to tell Steve about being a legal assistant in a Brooklyn law firm. They do a lot of property cases, rent control, tenants' rights stuff. Some civil rights stuff, too. It doesn't sound like Sam makes a lot of money—for someone who works in a law firm, that is—but it also sounds like he enjoys the job.

In turn, Steve tells him about his _real_ job as an artist, taking commissions for various publications or from various people, as well as the cartoons he publishes in _Commandos_. He talks about wanting to go to art school eventually, but not being sure whether he even needs that anymore. In turn, Sam talks about how he's deciding whether or not to go to law school or train in something else, like social work.

“I'm a little old for that, maybe,” he admits with a shrug.

Steve raises his eyebrows. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-seven,” Sam says with a little wince. “I joined the Air Force right out of high school, did that for a while. Finished college after.”

“I'm twenty-six,” Steve says, giving Sam a considering look. He doesn't look like a military kind of guy, and now he's wondering whether he needs to reevaluate his first impressions, reevaluate how much he likes Sam. “Air Force?”

“Yeah, it was… it happened,” Sam says and shrugged. “I always kinda looked up to military guys, you know. My cousin served, and his dad, my uncle. And we graduated high school right when the housing crisis hit, you know. I'm not saying I didn't volunteer or anything.” He takes a big gulp of his drink. “It is what it is.”

Steve nods contemplatively. It is what it is. That's a good motto to live by, at least for most things. He relaxes fractionally and changes the subject, asking Sam what kinds of TV shows he watches and what he thinks about Brooklyn.

Two more whiskey sours later—they take turns buying for each other—both Sam and Steve are tipsy and laughing over stupid _Game of Thrones_ memes that Steve is pulling up on his phone. They're sitting close together, shoulder to shoulder, and Steve feels… weirdly comfortable. Even the barricade of pillows he built up around himself is gone.

“I'm starving,” Sam announces eventually, looking around. “But the food here is way overpriced.”

He announces that too loudly, and Steve, laughing, shushes him. “Shh! We can leave. Come on. Did you close your tab?”

“Where are we going?”

“Pizza.” Steve knows a really good pizza place in the neighborhood, one that serves slices on paper plates and has cheesy plastic tables and chairs to sit on. That's how you know it's good.

Sam raises his eyebrows. “You're lactose intolerant.”

He remembered? Steve smothers a grin. “Lactase pills,” he says, shoving his hand into his pocket to pull out a white packet of pills. He's clumsy enough that as he does so, his inhaler falls to the ground. “Oh, fuck!”

Sam watches with that half-laughing look again and Steve bristles. “What? I'm a walking medical emergency, okay?”

“I'm not judging, man,” Sam replies. “Are you always this defensive?”

“What's it to you?” That's a yes.

Sam puts his hand on Steve's shoulder. It's heavy and warm and, while it should be confining, feels strangely comforting. “It's okay,” he says.

Steve even believes him. And he lets Sam keep an arm around his shoulders as they walk to the pizza place. He's that level of tipsy-drunk where everything feels brighter and faster. The orange sodium city lights glow with an extra halo. Car headlights are extra bright and extra fascinating. Sam, beside him, feels incredibly tall. Everything is hyperreal. Steve's heart beats faster at the thought of all the life next to him, all around him, in the entire city.

The illusion fades when they enter the pizza place and the familiar smell of melted cheese and baking bread surround them. Steve takes a deep breath. Sam laughs at him. For once, Steve doesn't get defensive. “I like the buffalo chicken pizza,” he says. It's pizza with wing sauce, and bits of buffalo wings as toppings. Very New York, New York.

Sam raises his eyebrows. “Sounds like a recipe for heartburn. No offense. I'm passing.”

“I'll give you a bite.”

Sam gets the artichoke pesto pizza, and Steve only judges him a little. They trade bites while half continuing an earlier conversation about the cleanest subway stations in Brooklyn. When they're done, Steve goes to the bathroom to wash his hands and realizes that it's half past midnight already. Time flies when you're having fun, he supposes. And he _is_ having fun. A lot.

Sam's apparently come to the same realization, because when Steve comes back from the bathroom, he's already put their plates and used napkins in the trash. “We should probably head out,” he says, looking at Steve warily.

Steve reminds himself that he's not the only one who doesn't know what Sam is looking for. “Yeah,” he says.

“What line did you take?”

“I took the bus,” Steve says, but he doesn't necessarily want to end the date right here and now, while Sam heads to his subway station and he heads to his bus stop. “I'll take the subway back, though. Show me where the station is?”

They walk several blocks together to the J Street station. After a few minutes, Sam hesitantly takes Steve's hand. Steve lets him.

“Sorry I'm so, you know, bad at this,” Sam says, and Steve glances up at him sharply.

“Bad at what?”

“The dating thing,” Sam clarifies, and maybe he's as confused as Steve is. “I tried to tell you when we were texting. You know. That it's my first time doing this sort of thing.”

Steve feels his hand get cold and clammy in Sam's grip. Maybe that's just his mind playing tricks on him. “Yeah...” he says.

“I started thinking a lot, you know, after I left the military. Trying to figure out who I was as a person. Thinking about having a romantic life or something. And then—okay, this is really embarrassing.” Sam glances sidelong at Steve; Steve raises his eyebrows. “I realized that I liked guys. And girls. I'd just… taken a long time to figure out the liking guys part.”

“So you're bisexual,” Steve prompts and tries to imagine how difficult this must be for Sam. It's hard, though. He's known he was queer since—hell. Since forever. It's just part of him. Like his asthma or his love for drawing.

“Guess so,” Sam agrees. “And I wanted to kind of… explore that, I guess, but I'm, I dunno. I'm bad at making moves on somebody I don't _really_ like.”

Steve raises his eyebrows again. “So you _really_ like me?” he asks, and if there's a slight smile on his face, well, shit, it's just to make up for all those half-smiling looks that Sam is always giving him.

Sam grins and him and squeezes his hand, and Steve feels a little shiver go all the way down his spine like a bolt of lightning. “I'm starting to,” he says.

They reach the subway entrance, a green, wrought iron grating and a set of stairs that descends into a brightly lit hallway. “I'm going downtown,” Sam says, stopping. “You?”

Steve grins, though it's sort of a grimace. “Uptown.” So this is the real end of their date. He looks up at Sam, reflecting on how their hands feel nice together. How maybe he really likes Sam. Likes the fact that they're drawing this out. Getting to know each other. Maybe he really will get a boyfriend from online dating. Just… not the way he'd expected to.

“So,” Sam says.

“So,” Steve agrees and leans up to kiss him.

The kiss isn't electric or life-changing or anything like that. It's just a kiss. But when Steve leans back down, his heart is beating so hard he can hear the blood rushing in his ears. Sam licks his lips, and Steve waits for some review, for some acknowledgment that yeah, it's confirmed, he really does like kissing guys. And he gets it. Sam leans down to kiss him again.

They don't stand there for ages clinging to each other like a pair of teenagers. They just kiss a few times and then… it's done. Steve grins at Sam. Sam grins at Steve. “Text me when you get home,” he says.

“Same to you,” Steve says.

They head down the stairs side by side, the backs of their hands brushing, and kiss one last time, chastely, before heading home in opposite directions.

*

_Saturday, April 9, 2016_

_1:30 a.m._  
Made it home  
I had fun tonight, Sam.  
Thanks :)

_1:42_  
Home.  
Me too.  
Let's do this again sometime?

_1:43_  
If I say tomorrow… too soon?

_1:43_  
Somebody's eager!

_1:45_  
What can I say? I liked that kiss.

_1:47_  
It was good kiss.

_1:47_  
We should do it again sometime.

_1:47_  
Yeah. :)  
We should.

_1:50_  
We will.  
For sure.

_1:55_  
So not tomorrow. Sunday?

_1:56_  
You'll be finished with all your work by then?

_1:57_  
I'll try my best.

_1:59_  
Then Sunday.  
Maybe dinner and a movie this time.

_2:00_  
You pick the movie.  
I trust your taste.  
Sort of.

_2:00_  
I pick the movie and you reserve the right to judge me for it?

_2:01_  
Glad we're on the same page.

_2:01_  
Haha. Works for me.  
See you soon.

_2:03_  
Night, Sam. :)

_2:03_  
:) Sleep well.

**Author's Note:**

> comments are always appreciated/follow me on [tumblr](http://serazienne.tumblr.com)!


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